


Not the Sort of Thing They Trained Us for at West Point

by starsplitter



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Episode Related, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, First Time, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25920508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsplitter/pseuds/starsplitter
Summary: After saving Ensign Sato's life and subsequently being in a coma due to his extensive injuries, Major Jeremiah Hayes finds himself faced with two things: For once, Enterprise has somehow ended up in an alternate timeline full of Nazi aliens. And if that wasn't enough, working together with Lieutenant Malcolm Reed proves difficult once more ... for all the wrong reasons.
Relationships: J. Hayes/Malcolm Reed
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really missed writing Hayes/Reed-fanfic. Having recently re-watched both parts of "Stormfront" I was wondering how this specific mission might have developed if Hayes was still alive. This is the result. 
> 
> Heavy spoilers for all of season 3 including "Zero Hour" and obviously season 4, ep. 1 & 2 ("Stormfront").  
> As per usual this is unbeta'd. Comments, criticism and kudos are always most welcome!

Nighttime usually was the hardest.

It’s where my demons reared their ugly heads and unleashed the fatal mixture that was my flashbacks brought on by my post-war trauma, lots of unresolved questions regarding my sexuality, memories of my late father and — of course — a colorful recap of embarrassing things I said or did ten years ago.

When we received orders for the Delphic Expanse I was itching to jump head first into the new assignment: A welcome distraction from endless training sessions with a bunch of cadets at Jupiter Space Station as well as on Earth.

I knew damn well this deployment might just be adding additional items to the array of sinister souvenirs I’ve collected during the previous tours, scars of physical as well as of psychological nature.

My mother always said I’m in desperate need of therapy and while she wasn’t wrong per se I was unsure where to even start.

I was worried that if I opened _that_ can of worms I wouldn’t know where to put all of the darkness I’m releasing.

For years I had stomped on, ignoring the rather rapid decline of my mental health. Like plenty of my fellow MACOs I’d done what’s easiest: medicating with alcohol and an occasional one-night-stand in some random port we had docked at as well as always signing up for _yet_ another deployment (also known as infantry’s way of overworking).

I could hear my ex-wife sneer in the background (“ _Do you think any of that is a good solution?_ ”), and the answer is no, it’s fucking not, but I didn’t have much else to compensate with.

I was a soldier, and to understand my stance you had to understand how much stigma there still was when it came to being open about what war did to you. You’d think that in our times we’d have evolved — yet the truth is we haven’t.

I took a lot of pride in my work. I was committed to my duty as a soldier, to the missions I was assigned to; but most of all I was committed to the people I served with — especially those serving under my command.

To become a major in the Military Assault Command Operations, United Earth’s Military special forces, I had sacrificed a lot to get to be where I was then. Most notably I was stationed on the Janus Loop for an excruciating eighteen months, a place I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

After I returned I was so unbearable (even for my own taste) that my then-wife decided to bogart about seventy-five percent of our belongings and serve me divorce papers. Not that I cared much about material possessions, I’ve always been more of a “travel light”-type.

My emotional baggage made up for the rest.

***

The first time I met Lieutenant Malcolm Reed I was appalled at the hostility emanating from the man. Having lived in a military environment since I left high school I was used to a certain kind of cold professionalism where appropriate, but it was clear that the lieutenant didn’t want me — or any MACO, for that matter — aboard _his_ ship.

In fact he was so territorial I was surprised he wasn’t pissing against each and every bulkhead like a goddamned terrier.

The MACO contingent was summoned aboard the Enterprise to contribute to the mission in the Delphic Expanse. Starfleet might have been a paramilitary uniformed space force, but their focus was on peaceful exploration, not leading a full-fledged war. And Earth had a war on their hands, so that’s where the MACOs came in: Our combat training was far superior to anything Starfleet had to offer.

Both my men and I were ready to get on with the job as soon as we left for the Expanse, but I hadn’t factored in that Malcolm Reed would make it impossible to do so.

From the moment I set foot on the ship, Reed made clear he hated me — for no specific reason other than my presence, I assumed. And after most of my perfectly sound suggestions regarding the mission had been (oftentimes brusquely) rejected by the lieutenant, I came to the conclusion that if someone hated me for no reason, I would give that bastard one.

I reveled in making him look like a fool during our training sessions — bonus points if I could also make his team look bad, although I didn't dislike any of them per se. I questioned his decisions politely, but still delivered well-tempered jabs to dispute his suitability for the job.

My antipathy was mainly to his persona and his behavior: arrogant, passive-aggressive and lacking any sort of refined communication skills.

And I thought I was bad at talking.

Halfway through the grueling mission in the Expanse I had two wars on my hands — one being the fight against the Xindi, the other one leading warfare against a stubborn, stuffy Englishman with questionable personality traits.

I’ll freely admit at first our little squabbles seemed like harmless fun to me and I enjoyed riling him up with my sarcastic remarks. Unsurprisingly Reed didn’t take my efforts well.

And then things suddenly were not-so-fun anymore: That’s when I abandoned my principle to stay professional and put duty first.

For weeks and weeks we had been sniping around each other like some alley cats in a brawl, ready to verbally tear each other to pieces at any given opportunity. Until at one point talking wasn’t enough anymore and things got physical.

I had encountered him at the gym, he suggested a sparring match and that’s when I snapped. Or we both snapped, I guess … and my, did it feel good.

The moment I drove my fist into his face my heart rejoiced, the bloodthirsty little sucker.

Just to hear him wince and groan and filled me with a sense of satisfaction I hadn’t experienced in a good long while.

At first we were insulting each other while practicing the hand-to-hand combat techniques from earlier in the day, but within minutes what had started as a private sparring session had become a full-on fistfight.

It wasn’t about “training” or about the success of the mission anymore. It also wasn’t about improving our skill set.

I wanted to see blood, and judging from the way the lieutenant fought dirty he shared the interest. I detached his retina, he bruised my kidney and we both left the gym with a couple of contused ribs and battered, swollen faces after all was said and done.

I don’t know what was worse: The pain, the dressing down we received from Captain Archer or the fact Reed and I quickly became Enterprise’s favorite gossip.

Yet there was one thing that bothered me more than any reprimand and any of the fellow crew talking smack: After the ordeal Reed’s behavior toward me shifted.

It had been a very subtle change: Outwardly, Malcolm Reed was still as hostile as ever when interacting with him; but the way he approached me, talked to me, _looked_ at me … At first I assumed I was being paranoid.

Then my subconscious decided to act up.

How many times did I jolt out of a restless sleep, hours before both my alarm and my internal clock woke me — with memories of my dreams still lingering on my mind? Dreams where we had engaged in sparring practices turning into fistfights turning into devouring each other on the floor of the gymnasium; our lovemaking as brutal as hand-to-hand combat?

How many times did I wake up, uncomfortably hot despite the environmental controls working just fine; my pajama pants tenting due to my rampant arousal?

I stopped counting eventually.

Instead I tried to revisit events from the past: My ex-wife, the last fling I had on Jupiter Station; anything that maybe would have kept me from thinking about Malcolm Reed’s languid movements and his slender hands grabbing body, his fists pummeling me relentlessly.

I held out a week before I gave up — desperate and horny like a teenager and angry with myself: I had fallen for someone who outranked me under the current circumstances, but was technically my subordinate. Someone who perpetually made me question my current narrative that I preferred women just as much as men — at forty-four years old, no less.

I tried to fight it at first, but eventually just fell into a routine; fast, hard rubs quickly leading to sweet release while thinking of him, the way he snarled and hissed my name when we sparred, his scent, his sinewy and slender body.

Only to be suffocated by shame, unable to look him in the eye without despising myself and my actions.

And to make a bad year worse, I also died.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much to Hayes' dismay, the ship's rumor mill is churning. Upon returning to Earth it's quickly determined that things are not as they're supposed to be ...

Of course I didn’t stay dead.  
But for a couple minutes I flatlined on Phlox’s biobed after the rescue mission to save Ensign Hoshi Sato from the Xindi had gone awry, and I ended up with a disruptor wound to the chest.  
I had always assumed there would be some great reveal at the end. Bright lights. Seeing your long-deceased relatives again. An epiphany of sorts that explained life’s big secrets.  
Yet all I remembered was … nothing. All I felt was silence and darkness and it terrified me. I’ve been injured in battle and I’ve had my brushes with death, but nothing ever came close to what had happened that day.  
Maybe somehow I had hoped that if I’d ever stare death in the face it would offer me some sort of comfort. I was wrong.  
Death doesn’t owe us anything. 

For the next three weeks following the ordeal I was put in an artificial coma. After I was stable enough to be awake, I spent another two weeks in Sickbay, high as a kite on painkillers.  
By the time I was back to my old self the Xindi mission was more or less over.  
And once the painkiller-induced fog had fully lifted the memories returned with a vengeance. I had a feeling I’d bring back another nice souvenir from this round of mayhem — but apart from the flashbacks plaguing me there was another thing that unsettled me enough pose a significant distraction.  
I was certain that Lieutenant Reed had been at what everyone thought would be my deathbed. 

***

I waited until the last minute before shipping out to bootcamp to tell my mother that I’d enlisted in the United Earth Military. By joining the service I had followed my father’s footsteps — and my grandfather’s, and my great-grandfather’s, and so on and so forth.  
Dad had been KIA when I was ten.  
My memories of him were fond and few: He was deployed often and sometimes for years on end.  
But there was one thing I remembered like it happened yesterday: Oh-six-hundred hours in the morning on a Wednesday when the deafening knock on our front door woke me, the chaplain’s soothing tone and my mother’s screams echoing down the hallway.  
We moved off post and into a run-down apartment complex where she took up work as a property manager and housekeeper.  
Everyone loved to point out the strength it took to keep on keeping on after such a tragedy, but what people failed to see is the lack of alternatives. What choices do we have when survival is our only option?  
I could still remember her then, thirty-three years old and a widowed mother of a young child, her hands raw from bleaching sinks. Some days she loved watching me play and some days she couldn’t bear to look at my face because I was a spitting image of my father.

When I told her I had enlisted behind her back she was in the kitchen, having just poured herself a cup of coffee. Instead she took the mug and smashed it on the floor, pieces of ceramic scattering everywhere and coffee splattering up the walls.  
She cried and screamed, her voice hoarse and muffled — fueled by a decade of pent-up anger at the world, her fate or a higher power that might or might not exist — and cursed me with all she had.  
For a long time after the incident we weren’t on speaking terms. She did come to see me when I graduated from West Point, but our relationship was strained ever since I decided to join the service.  
In some ways the service eventually had replaced my family — or what was left of it.

***

It was Cpl. Amanda Cole who I overheard talking to Pvt. Money and Cpl. Romero in the mess hall, pointing out that it was astonishing how much we were alike, Lieutenant Reed and I.  
Money and Romero nodded in agreement, followed by conspiratorial smiles.  
I heard Romero say “birds of a feather”, which then prompted Money mumbling something about bees.  
A round of laughter ensued, which quickly ceased when Cole — having noticed I was watching them — gave them one of her trademark death glares.  
It made me regret I hadn’t chewed her out more for briefly fraternizing with Commander Tucker, but I felt it would have been in poor taste since clearly his interest was directed elsewhere now.  
I didn’t mind my men (and the few women serving with me) talking smack about their superior — I’d done it when I was their age and rank, and my ego wasn’t that fragile.  
Unless Reed was involved. Then I found my insecurity quickly turning into anger. 

Just a few days prior to the mess hall incident Dr. Phlox had released me from sickbay. I was still obligated to show up daily for appointments with the doctor and had been placed on light duty by Captain Archer, who annoyed the shit out of me with his buddy attitude. Somehow I liked him better in the expanse, but I had a feeling I was the only one sharing that opinion.  
During one of the medical appointments Phlox dropped the bombshell on me that Reed apparently had visited me every day while I was in a coma. Ensign Sato, whose life I had saved, also came by a couple of times, but certainly not as often as the lieutenant. 

“Why would he do that?” I said, dreading the answer. 

“I do believe Lieutenant Reed felt he was responsible for your … well, death,” the Denobulan handed me a PADD. “And maybe he thought it should have been him who lead the mission. Although I do have a few other theories. On this PADD you will find a psychological evaluation I would like you to fill out. You suffered a pretty intense near-death experience and post-traumatic stress is no joke.”

I scoffed. How very Starfleet of him.  
In the MACOs you’d get a pint and a pat on the back. 

Curiosity killed the cat, my mother used to tell me as a child. I knew damn well I should not be pestering Phlox any further, but I couldn’t stop myself. 

“What do you mean by theories, Doctor?”

He flashed me a grin that got wider and wider until I was thoroughly unsettled. 

“I am still astonished, Major, how multifarious human behavior is. Lieutenant Reed is very skilled in putting on — I believe your species calls it a poker face, but I had plenty of time to study him during the duration of this mission. If anything, I do believe the Lieutenant might be interested in you … sexually.” 

I slapped the PADD down on the biobed next to me. After starting to say something a couple of times I realized I didn’t even know what I was trying to get at, so I shut up. 

“No worries, Major. This obviously will be kept in strictest confidentiality, both for your sake and Lieutenant Reed’s.”

I headed out of sickbay as fast as possible after Phlox had finished up all of his tests.  
“Strictest confidentiality my ass,” I muttered under my breath as I headed back to my quarters.  
Money and Cole were excellent soldiers but logical thinking wasn’t their strong suit — if they were running their mouths about how Reed was behaving toward me, chances were gossip had been making its rounds across the ship for a good while.  
I didn’t have a clue who might have started these rumors. And I wish I could’ve said that I didn’t care who did.  
Not to mention I was left wondering if the good doctor knew the attraction was mutual. 

***

“It’s done,” Reed said upon returning from the launch bay.  
Ensign Hoshi Sato and a few of my MACOs followed closely. All of them looked like hell.  
Since I still hadn’t resumed my regular schedule and was still on light duty I hadn’t been part of the away mission.  
Next to me stood Commander Tucker and Sub-commander T’Pol. 

We were traveling in the ‘belly of the beast’, I had been informed, aboard an Aquatic Xindi vessel: Enterprise sat tucked away in its launch bay. I still had a hard time wrapping my head around it. 

“Done?” T’Pol eyes him suspiciously. 

“Captain Archer destroyed the weapon,” Reed replied calmly. There wasn’t a hint of celebration in his statement.  
I gave my crew a quick nod to let them know they were off duty for the rest of the day.  
I saw Tucker watch them leave and then check the docking bay again. I knew who he was looking for. Archer wasn’t with them. 

“Where is he? Is he okay?” I knew that Commander Tucker and Captain Archer had been longtime friends. I also knew the expression on Reed’s face very well — it was a carbon copy of the way the chaplain looked at my mother and me when he informed us of my father’s death. It was the same look I had seen on Reed’s face when he informed me that Cpl. Hawkins had been killed in the sphere. 

“The Captain didn’t make it, Trip,” Reed rarely used his nickname in front of other people, especially when there was a MACO present.

“What do you mean, he didn’t make it?”

“The weapon exploded before he could transport to Degra's ship,” Reed said and I watched Ensign Sato give Tucker a hug. She had started crying even before Reed had broken the news to us.  
I watched her and Tucker leave, her hand on his shoulder, and in that moment I felt for her: From what I gathered Archer had coaxed her away from a teaching job, promising her adventures and a myriad of unknown languages to analyze. Oftentimes when I looked at her these days during briefing sessions I saw nothing but terror written all over her face. This wasn’t what she had signed up for.

I knew, because I had been there before.

***

After Enterprise had been released from the Aquatic vessel’s launch bay, the steady hum of the warp engines under my feet felt normal again. As soon as the Xindi ship had left we gathered on the bridge to look at what Tucker aptly described as the “prettiest sight he ever saw”: Earth, still in one piece, in all of its blue and white glory. 

We were in the situation room listening to a piece of recording Ensign Sato had brought with her. Tucker was pacing back and forth.  
After the recording had ended she turned to us and said: “ That was Winston Churchill. I picked that up half an hour ago.”  
Reed’s mouth twitched.  
“Well, it's true then. We're over two hundred years in the past,” he stated sourly. 

“I've also intercepted several military dispatches and their radio program, something called The Shadow,” Sato threw in.

“We should run a complete diagnostic. Start with the sensor array,” T’Pol wasn’t wrong, but something about this felt off. My sentiment was shared by Commander Tucker. 

“This isn't a damn sensor glitch. We just pulled three fifty caliber bullets from the shuttlepod hull. And spare us the official Vulcan position about time travel. We are two hundred years in the past. Face it.”  
Him and Ensign Travis Mayweather, the helmsman, had taken a shuttle to complete a survey of the area and had gotten fired at by Browning machine guns. 

“The first step to getting back is ascertaining how we got here. As soon as the diagnostic is complete, run a scan for any anomalies in the area,” T’Pol replied calmly. I sensed she was unsettled though — not that I could blame her. The situation was bizarre for all intents and purposes.  
She turned to Reed and me. He gave a short “Right away” and we headed for the tactical station to run the necessary scans. 

“It is good to have you back, Major,” Reed’s statement felt forced, though not entirely insincere.  
The turbolift whirred to life as we ascended to the bridge. 

“It is good to be back, sir,” I replied and I meant it. Every time I went in to sickbay for my follow-up appointments Phlox had been pestering me about attending therapy sessions with him. Apparently he thought my psychological evaluation warranted his efforts. I declined each time.  
This was not a good time to start working on this — although my persistent nightmares told me a different story. Thinking of Lieutenant Reed had once again proven to be a welcome distraction, but now that we were alone I drowned in the wave of shame that hit me.  
I could tell the lieutenant was just as uncomfortable in my presence, for reasons I could only guess. 

We didn’t take long to find inconsistencies in the recordings Ensign Sato had provided.

“My German is not very good,” I said, “but from what I gather here they’re talking about troop movements … and there are mentioning of battles that are taking place in Virginia and Ohio. It doesn’t make any sense, sir.”

Malcolm Reed quirked an eyebrow.

“No, it doesn’t,” he replied, “unless we’re in a completely different timeline.”

The idea was completely preposterous, but I didn’t have a better answer either.

“We have to bring this to Sub-commander T’Pol immediately,” Reed took the PADD containing the recording with him. 

T’Pol was in the ready room alongside Commander Tucker, who seemed to look more and more disheveled each time I saw him. 

“I've been going over those military dispatches that Hoshi picked up. Some of them don't make sense. They mention recent battles in Virginia and Ohio. There weren't any battles fought there in World War II. The Nazis never got to North America. Something's very wrong down there,” Reed said as he handed the PADD over to the Vulcan, and I could tell that she was just as alarmed as the rest of us. 

“I didn’t know you spoke German, Major,” Reed said and gave me a faint, lopsided smile as we headed back to the armory. To my dismay it made my stomach drop for a second.

I scoffed. “My maternal grandmother was German. My mother insisted I learned the language but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten most of it.”

“Still, it could come in handy for the mission. Hoshi is fluent in German, but it’s always good to have some backup. Has Dr. Phlox cleared you to resume your regular duty yet, Major?” 

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

I didn’t even know whether I dreaded or looked forward to working with Lieutenant Reed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I'm currently working on chapter 3 and hopefully will be able to update soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayes and Reed very slowly learn how to work together without incidents. They do make a pretty good team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the term "fleeter" from pretzelduck, who wrote a wonderful story called "Shadows in the Dark" - I highly recommend you give it a read. 
> 
> As for the storyline, I'm taking the liberty to mix canon (as told in Stormfront 1 & 2) - including dialogues from the show - with my own ideas. Some of the events have been shifted around slightly to make space for my favorite (technically semi-nameless) major.  
> Writing this has been a lot of fun so far and I hope you enjoy reading it!

“Bay one is depressurizing. Someone's launching a shuttlepod,” Ensign Mayweather stated.

Just about four hours before Daniels, a former member of the crew — who officially had been _killed_ years ago — had walked into sickbay to divulge some secret about a temporal cold war.

I had just entered the bridge to request a status update from Reed, likely to his dismay.

“Hail them,” T’Pol said.

“I'm picking up one life sign aboard. It's Suliban,” Reed confirmed and at this point I was thoroughly confused.

“Phase-cannons,” T’Pol ordered and Reed, trigger happy as ever, did as told. In the very distance I could see one of the shots hitting the shuttle pod.

Without much ado, Reed handed me a PADD.

“I’m afraid this will be entirely too long-winded for a quick update, Major. You will find all necessary information on here. If you have any further questions, I am more than happy to meet after I’m off bridge duty,” the lieutenant said frostily.

PADD in hand I left and made my way back to our training section in one of the cargo bays where I sat at a small, rickety desk with a computer terminal functioning as a makeshift work station.

After reading the logs Reed had provided me with I was about as confused as before.

I caught up on paperwork — more of Phlox’s psych evaluation forms — and went over the log once more when Reed entered the cargo bay and headed straight over to my desk. I kicked out a chair for him across from me.

He sat down and didn’t offer any greeting, so I got on the matter without further ado.

“I believe some of this needs some clarification, sir,” I said, “Enterprise’s crew and this Silik who was aboard our vessel aren’t exactly strangers. What is not clear from these logs is how you initially came across the Saliban …”

“Suliban,” Reed cut in.

“… Suliban in the first place,” I finished and looked at the lieutenant, his lips pursed and his face unreadable as ever.

I realized he seemed paler than I remembered him from before my prolonged absence. He had dark circles under his eyes.

I wondered if that was the new normal: A beat up, exhausted crew on a ship that was falling apart, afraid for their lives and stuck in the wrong century.

If I had been inclined to be an asshole, I could have relieved him of duty for the next day to have him catch up on sleep. I did outrank him technically. Ever since the Xindi mission had been accomplished he was no longer in charge of any MACO operations.

But I had learned that arguing with Malcolm Reed was a futile endeavor and would likely end in another fistfight in some corridor, so I let him be in charge and offered my expertise when necessary. Maybe this was the mellowness of my age kicking in — I wasn’t one to offer the figurative olive branch to those I disliked … or rather, had disliked at one point. I had to admit though that I was worried about him.

Reed didn’t waste any time to bring me up to speed. Apparently the Suliban had been — apart from a Klingon courier named Klaang — the very first alien species they had encountered on their mission. Way before any MACO contingent ever had been stationed aboard the Enterprise.

He explained what they knew about the temporal cold war — a concept so outrageous to me that I had a hard time processing what he told me —, about Daniels, about how Silik was able to hijack a shuttle pod by stunning Commander Tucker in the launch bay.

“I have one question though, Lieutenant,” I said after Reed had finished, “why are we here? And who brought us here?”

He pursed his lips again. “That I can’t tell you, Hayes, because I don’t know. But I’m hoping yo might be able to help me find out.”

Only after he left I realized he used my last name instead of my rank. The last time he had done so was when he had lurched at me during our sparring match.

***

During our brief meeting in the situation room Reed decided it would be best if a shuttlepod was sent to the surface in order to find Silik. The lieutenant would lead the away team, he suggested bringing along Commander Tucker as the engineering specialist and Ensign Mayweather, since he was the helmsman.

Then he nodded in my direction.

“I believe we could use some tactical support, Major.”

“Very well, sir,” I replied.

“Before he lost consciousness, Daniels told me there was someone we had to stop,” T’Pol stated in her usual dispassionate, flat tone.

“At least now we know who he was talking about,” Tucker threw in, referring to Silik. I realized once more how utterly lost I would’ve been if Reed hadn’t kept me in the loop about the different fractions at play in this mess.

“Can you get a fix on the shuttlepod?” The Vulcan asked, looking at Lieutenant Reed.

“He disabled the transponder. However, we are picking up trace plasma signatures, probably from the damage. I think I can get us within three kilometers of where it went down,” he replied.

“That will have to suffice.” She nodded.

“Thing I can't understand, why'd he go to the trouble of saving my life? He pulled me out of the launch bay before he depressurized it,” Tucker was leaning against the console as if he needed extra support. If the phaser beam that had stunned him had been strong, he likely still felt the aftereffects.

“Another item on our list of things to ponder,” Reed replied, a disdained look on his face.

Then he turned to Tucker, Mayweather and me.

“We’re leaving in three hours. I’d like to find out more about this timeline we’re in first before we head to the surface. Major Hayes, there’s something you might be able to help me with.”

***

Lieutenant Reed hadn’t been joking when he said he intended to have me help him find out more about what (or rather, who) had gotten us into this mess in the first place.

We had set up shop in the armory and pored over a pile of recordings Hoshi had provided, some of them dating way back, for hours.

Reed had brought an old-fashioned stainless steel thermos jug from the mess hall filled with black coffee brewed so strong it dripped out like motor oil.

After my second cup I felt uncomfortably alert.

“How did Ensign Sato find all of this?,” I asked as I flipped through a virtual copy of the _Stürmer._

Most of the data we received consisted of newspaper articles but there are some TV programs as well, bearing bellicose names like “News on Parade”.

“She has her sources,” he simply said.

While spent my time struggling with the German language, the lieutenant went over all of the English sources hoping to find anything useful.

“You don’t have to give me the rundown word for word, Major,” Reed scoffed and poured himself another cup. How he wasn’t shaking yet was beyond me. “We don’t have an infinite amount of time. Do you anything interesting?”

“I am working as fast as I can, sir,” I replied, trying not to let my annoyance show. He obviously never had to decline nouns in four different cases.

It didn’t take me long to find the vital clue I had been looking for.

“Here,” I pointed at newspaper article on the PADD and Reed scooted closer to me in his chair, “this is from 1916, I believe. It says here that Lenin has been assassinated in his hometown of Simbirsk while attending his mother’s funeral.”

I was not very good at history, but I knew Reed was.

“In 1916?”, the lieutenant’s voice pitched. “That is not what happened. Lenin was in Zurich in 1916. It was the year before he published _Imperialism, the Highest State of Capitalism_.”

I rolled my eyes and hoped Reed hadn’t seen it. The smug bastard never missed an opportunity to rub it in my face that his knowledge on various topics was extensive.

“It also says that eyewitnesses report they saw the assassin vanish into thin air in a glowing stream of light,” I continued. Maybe my German wasn’t so rusty after all.

Reed snorted.

“In other words, whoever killed Lenin in this timeline used a transporter beam to get away,” he said grimly. I nodded.

“I will bring it up with the sub-commander. Get your gear and meet us in launch bay two in twenty minutes,” without looking at me, Reed grabbed the PADD and headed out of the cargo bay.

***

“Ensign, if you could do us a favor and keep the shuttle pod steady …”

Malcolm Reed was a nuisance when inconvenienced even in the slightest, I knew that much. But the atmospheric interference did made for a rough ride and even I felt my stomach drop uncomfortably a couple of times.

“I’m doing the best I can, sir,” Mayweather replied as his hands frantically moved over the console in front of him.

“There’s a bag under your seat, Malcolm,” Tucker stated dryly. The lieutenant was visibly offended, but didn’t say anything.

“Flatten your palm and place the first three fingers of your other hand on your wrist. Then press down with your thumb in the spot between your tendons,” I told him.

“Pardon me?”

I demonstrated the action on my own hand.

“There’s a pressure point between your large tendons on each hand. If you massage it for two to three minutes, it can help with the nausea.”

I watched him as he awkwardly copied my movements. He didn’t get the spot just right, so I grabbed his wrist and showed him, pressing down firmly on his pale skin.

Looking up, I could see Tucker eyeing us with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

I quickly dropped Reed’s hand and scooted away from him on the small bench we shared. Last thing I could use was more gossip about the lieutenant and I.

Reed nodded a thanks and awkwardly massaged the pressure point on his wrist. I looked away, but I felt his eyes on me.

When we finally landed everyone seemed glad to get the heck out of the shuttle. The weather was nasty, cold and rainy, and after conducting a quick preliminary scan of the area it was determined the shuttle that Silik had escaped with was nowhere to be found.

Before leaving, we had agreed it was best if the shuttlepod Silik had hijacked would be destroyed to keep him from escaping once more.

“Maybe we should split up. That way we can search the area quicker,” Tucker suggested.

“That’s not a bad —,” I said. Immediately I could see how Reed stiffened.

“Absolutely not,” he cut in, but avoided to look me in the eyes.

It was Tucker who puffed out a breath and then sharply said: “Oh, come on Malcolm, we talked about this.”

Well, that was interesting. Apparently either I or the MACO contingent (or worse, both) had been a topic of conversation between the _fleeters_. As much as I thought we finally — at least to some extent — were part of the crew … this made me doubt it.

The disappointment stung, but it annoyed me even more that I was upset about it like some outsider in high school wanting to be liked. Well, to be fair I had been an outsider then, but I wasn’t going to dwell on it now.

Reed finally gave in, but it was obvious he was still angry.

“Fine. We’ll split up then. Travis and Trip will head north from here. The city’s limits should only be about five kilometers away, but I highly doubt that Silik would enter a more populated area. Hayes, you’re with me. We’ll rendezvous here in twelve hours.”

I watched as the two others vanished into the night.

We were surrounded by dense forest which would make looking for a human challenging enough, let alone a genetically enhanced alien.

The lieutenant gave me a court nod and we went on our way.

A stray thought crossed my mind: Spending time alone with Malcolm Reed. I wished I could’ve shoved it back into the unknown where it had come from, but instead it lingered and mocked me.

I tried to take a more rational approach.

I was on an away mission with Lieutenant Reed.

What could possibly go wrong?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Reed and Hayes are magnets for trouble. Hayes comes to an interesting conclusion.

I guess I jinxed myself with my initial optimism about this mission — or maybe Malcolm Reed was just a magnet for disaster. Or maybe I was … not that it made a difference.

While canvasing the area, constantly scanning for Suliban life signs, it was Reed who suddenly lifted his right hand, two fingers outstretched. He looked like a byzantine icon in the dark.

Malcolm Reed had significantly better hearing than me — not surprising, given that I had a few encounters with heavy explosives. Romero sometimes joked around, saying I was deaf as a door post.

Then I heard it too: a vehicle approaching. I could make out the faint roar of an engine, then at least half a dozen men shouting in German.

I look at Reed, who motioned to me to get off the road and take cover behind a couple of trees.

Before we could even head into that direction a second vehicle approached from the other direction, headlights bright as day, and I knew right then and there it was over.

***

Getting captured or detained is never fun.

Most of my experiences have been limited to combat practice, although the MACOs don’t spare anyone just because it’s a training exercise, especially not their own.

One of the last times I was detained during actual duty, it had been Reed confining me to my quarters after the debacle with the Insectoid Xindi hatchery. At least no one beat me up that time though.

Within minutes, we were surrounded by at least a dozen soldiers (“Wehrmacht”, Reed had choked out) shouting at us and pointing their weapons in our direction. I saw Reed hold up both of his hands and did so as well, knowing that we were in deep shit.

Both of us, along with Ensign Mayweather and Commander Tucker, wore century-appropriate clothing: dark pants made of scratchy wool twill, simple button-up shirts and heavy cotton jackets. Our disguise would only help us so long though, we both knew that.

They poked and prodded us with their G43-rifles, herding us toward their off-road vehicle; and not long after I found myself on an uncomfortable bench next to Reed, engines rumbling as we embarked on a bumpy ride. Neither of us spoke a word. 

The next following hours were as unpleasant as they could get. Upon arrival at a tall, three-story brick building Reed and I were separated. They took my communicator from me. I remembered being dragged through endless grey hallways into an interrogation chamber, where four or five soldiers in drab grey uniforms then proceeded to beat the shit out of me. By the time they were finished with me I was dizzy to a point of nausea and saw everything double.

‘ _So this is what Reed must’ve felt like when I detached his retina,_ ’ I thought.

Once they realized they wouldn’t get anything useful out of me two of the guys dragged me back through the same corridor that we had come from and brought me to a detention cell located at the very end.

I was unceremoniously thrown onto the floor and the pain shooting through every inch of my body was so unbearable I was gasping. I hadn’t even fully regained my composure when I heard a familiar voice:

“There you are.”

Reed’s greeting came out as a low growl and I was certain I could hear the trademark sardonic smile in his voice.

The cell was spartan at best: There were no beds, but at least there was a small sink and a squatting toilet in the corner.

“It is good to see you, Lieutenant,” I replied and I meant it.

Reed scoffed. “No need for pleasantries,” he said, “I assume you didn’t give away any information?”

“I am a MACO,” I stated dryly. I was pretty certain he rolled his eyes.

He scooted over to me and helped me roll onto my back to assess the severity of my injuries. There was a deafening ringing in my ears that made it harder and harder to make out what Reed was saying.

“They most definitely treated you a lot worse,” he said. I felt him slide his hands under my jacket and then his hands were on my chest; moving down my sides. If I hadn’t been in so much pain I probably would have been in heaven.

“Three of your ribs are broken, and I’m sure you have a couple more that are contused. Your nose might be broken as well, but I’d give it a bit for the worst of the swelling to go down. How many fingers am I holding up?”

I squinted. I saw Reed hold up his hand, but the image danced and tilted before my eyes and so I squinted some more without getting any closer to a definite answer.

“Four,” the Lieutenant finally said, “and this took entirely too long. You have a concussion, Major.”

“Are you a doctor now, Sir?” I mocked, turning my head slightly to face him — which immediately rewarded me with a bout of nausea of the worst kind.

I watched him as he took of his jacket and folded it. Then he lifted my head and slid the jacket under — it wasn’t the best pillow but definitely better than the cell’s cold linoleum flooring.

“That’s very nice of you, Malcolm,” I said and something told me I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t been so damn out of it. I also likely wouldn’t have used his first name.

That’s very _nice_ of you — who even said that?

Oh yeah, me.

“I beg your pardon?” Reed replied, horror and embarrassment written all over his face, along with something else that I was too dizzy to figure out.

He helped me roll over so that I could lie on my side, and about twenty minutes later I knew why he’d done so: By the time I was finished projectile vomiting — there was no chance in hell I could have made it to the makeshift “lavatory” — I was certain I would have choked if I still had been lying on my back.

Reed had the mercy to look away until I was done.

The next hours were a blur, but I did remember Reed banging on the door, calling the guards for help. They sent in a vaguely disinterested doctor who examined my eyes with a flashlight, along with some poor bastard who mopped up the mess I had made, and to my delight they even put a bucket in our cell.

“Can you help me up, Sir?” I asked Reed, hoping that propping myself up against the wall would help mitigate the room from spinning.

“You should be lying down, Major,” he said. He grabbed onto me and pulled me further to the wall anyway. I placed the jacket behind my head.

Almost like an afterthought he shifted the bucket next to me.

“I’m sure it’s not over just yet,” he said and I winced.

“I hate to subject you to another round of this,” I gestured vaguely in the air.

“I’ve seen a lot worse, Major,” he replied with a pained expression on his face, “such as witnessing your death.”

His honesty surprised me — I hadn’t pegged Reed for someone who pondered on these kind of things, but maybe I was wrong.

“Phlox told me you went to see me a couple of times,” I said, watching him intently, “why, if I may ask?”

He didn’t get to answer, because as soon as the words had left my mouth the door opened again and a couple of guards stomped into the room, making me realize how sensitive I was to any loud noises. They grabbed Reed and dragged him out of our cell, and I wouldn’t see him again for the next couple of hours.

***

Death is a funny thing.

Being a MACO I’ve always been prepared to be killed in the line of duty, at least that’s what I’ve told myself. And I didn’t think I was _afraid_ of death — yet I lost the stoic approach I had cultivated over the years and with it the pragmatic comfort it had provided.

Now I couldn’t stop thinking about everything and everyone I had to loose: The men and women serving under my command, all of them outstanding soldiers. My mother, lonely and bitter in her small house at the end of a cul-de-sac somewhere in rural North Carolina.

The prospect of maybe someday being retired; living a peaceful, quiet life somewhere off the grid where nobody bothered me … (although I had a feeling this “peaceful, quiet life” only sounded good in theory).

And more recently I found myself thinking of Malcolm Reed, his snide remarks and sardonic smiles, the way his fists hurt me and still had me craving more.

Maybe I was finally losing it?

I was pretty certain I was.

***

I suffered through another round of puking and shortly after I fell asleep, dizzy and thirsty, only to dream of father again.

He rarely visited me in my dreams these days, but when he did the interactions seemed strangely surrealistic and less and less rooted in actual memory.

I tried to tell him about our mission, hoping to be able to explain the absurd scenario — time travel, being stuck in an alternate version of the year 1944 and all that, but he didn’t seem to be fazed by it much.

Instead he asked me random things about Reed while banging his phase rifle against the side of our single-family home on base. By that point I was so confused I woke up only to realize the banging sound I had heard was a lock turning and the cell door opening.

Reed stumbled in, wiping his bloodied nose on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Welcome back,” I said and he nodded.

“What did your guards look like, Major? The ones who took care of your … interrogation?”

His mouth twitched. He certainly didn’t waste any time, but I was thoroughly confused by his query and my injured state only made it harder to process what he had asked.

“I don’t understand the question, Sir. They were likely in their mid-twenties and had no distinguishing features to speak of.”

“No, what I am trying to say is … were they human, Major?”

“Of course they were, Sir. What else would they be?”

“Whoever just interrogated me definitely wasn’t,” he growled, still wiping blood from his nose and split lip.

I raised both eyebrows in question.

“They wore SS uniforms, so I’m guessing they are either collaborating with the Nazis or they’ve taken over operations completely. It’s definitely not an alien species we’ve encountered before,” Reed said, “bald-headed, grey skin and red eyes.”

“Sounds charming,” I supplied and I could tell from Reed’s exasperated gasp he was getting real sick of my sarcastic comments.

“Let me see your face,” I finally said.

“Are you a doctor now?” He quipped and I let out a small laugh. He didn’t protest though as my fingers examined his face for any broken bones and I realized that in the last couple of hours we’ve finally become fully comfortable around each other.

The open hostility has faded for a while now and even the mild antipathy we’ve held on to had transformed into friendly banter most of the time.

I still firmly believed that Reed was a nuisance: He whined incessantly and was surprisingly thin-skinned, unable to tolerate constructive criticism. In spite of this I still had grown fond of him.

I detested any sort of sentimentality, yet examining his face for injuries held a strange gentleness: Different from any other time I had checked any of my subordinates for injuries during battle simulations and real-life combat.

I let the fingertips of both of my hands rest on his cheekbones for a second and realized he closed his eyes.

I wondered if I’d get a fist to the face if I tried to kiss him.

“Good news,” I said, pulling away, “from what I can tell nothing is broken. They didn’t spare you though.”

“We need to figure out how to get out of here.”

“Agreed, Sir. I’d suggest though we’d sleep first. I don’t think either of us would be capable of handling a combat situation in our current state.”

Reed didn’t protest. He was so close to me I felt the warmth radiating from his body, his breath was a slightly ragged and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of the physical exertion he’d been through or because of my proximity.

“We should try contacting Enterprise tomorrow,” he said.

“With all due respect, Sir, but how would we be able to do that? They took my comm device first thing before they even stared their interrogation.”

He gave me a sly smile and gestured for me to hand him his jacket. Turning it inside out, he slid his fingers into a small rip where the lining attached to the bottom hem and wriggled out his communicator.

“Very sneaky, Sir,” I said, grinning.

He slid the device back into it’s hiding place and folded the jacket back up.

“You take it,” he handed me the jacket, “they treated you a lot worse than me. How’s your head?”

‘ _That’s a goddamn loaded question_ ,’ I thought.

I settled for an “I’m okay,” and only after I had said it realized I sounded like Reed with his never-ending ‘ _I’m fine’_.

He snorted.

“That sounds awfully familiar, Major,” a brief lopsided smile spread over his face. “I’ll wake you in six hours.”

“Five.”

“Six. I am the commanding officer on this mission.”

“I technically outrank you.”

Admittedly, that last objection had been unnecessary.

“Go to sleep, Hayes,” he growled, voice low and warning, “or I’ll take the bloody jacket back.”

I propped myself up against the wall in the corner of the cell in hopes that it might help the nausea a bit. The jacket still smelled of Reed.

The cell didn’t have a window, but there was a faint sliver of light creeping in through the small crack at the bottom of the door.

There, in the almost-darkness I watched him. He sat across from me, leaned against the wall, legs crossed in front of him. But he didn’t stare at the door, at least not most of the time.

Instead he mostly looked back at me with narrow eyes, and in this moment I understood we both approached the situation as if it were one of our combat simulations: Analyzing scenarios, waiting for a good moment to make a move and attack.

I fell asleep knowing his eyes were on me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Hayes gets to roundhouse kick some Nazis.

The lights were dim in the armory, where I stood at the console conducting a simulation, eyes glued to the screen in front of me.

Reed entered and proceeded to lock the door behind him, punching in some code on the door panel. I knew right then and there what would happen — a tingling at the very base of my spine slowly creeping up to my shoulders and neck spreading through my body: Quiet proof of the nervous anticipation I felt.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I was already aware this was not real, and once the realization had set in I was rewarded with the rare treat of lucid dreaming.

I gently nudged the idea a bit further: If he locked the door, he was serious and Reed being Reed he likely wouldn’t waste any time.

Would he fight me if I tried to take the upper hand?

Likely yes — Malcolm Reed would never take orders from me. So I decided to opt for a scenario where he had his way with me.

Maybe his hands would be nimble, precise and efficient; trained by years of target practice and adjusting sensors. Perhaps he’d be quick, so it was a good thing Starfleet working uniforms were easy to take off or I’d have an issue keeping up with him.

I tried to imagine Reed being vocal about his arousal, but something told me he likely would be quiet and controlled — it would be up to me to elicit any kind of sound from him.

My dreaming state was like a wave, ebbing and flowing — as soon as I had gained control over my imagination I had lost it again, my subconscious taking over.

We were naked now and somehow had ended up in my quarters on Enterprise, but before I could take the time to let my hands roam over Malcolm Reed’s pale body he pushed me to my knees, raking his fingers through my hair.

There was a thin patch of dark hair trailing from his navel to his erect penis.

When I took him in my mouth he bucked his hips and without much of a warning he started thrusting, still holding me by my hair. Trying to relax my throat I looked up: his blue eyes were almost closed, lids heavy. He fucked my mouth with the same precision and finesse I had witnessed during our sparring match. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was all sinewy strength, accuracy and alert senses.

There was no gentleness about his dominance and as expected he left me no choice but to abandon control. I felt my cock pulse and throb between my legs and hoped he’d let me touch myself, but when my hand wandered down to my groin he kicked my hadn’t away with his foot, keeping me from continuing.

Thrusting hard once more I heard him talk quietly:

“It is time to wake up, Major.”

***

“Hayes, get up.”

I tried to hold on to the last fragments of the dream, not fully ready to let go yet, but I could feel my arousal dissipating then.

My surroundings were eerily quiet; no steady hum of Enterprise’s engines, no stale smell of recycled air around me.

Noticing something was _off_ , I finally jolted awake to look into Malcolm Reed’s tired and bruised face. There was a hint of scruff on his cheeks — not fully out of regs yet, but close enough — and judging from the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes he hadn’t slept much, if at all.

Everything came back to me slowly: We were held captive in an alternate version of the year 1944, the Nazis had invaded the United States and we were in New York City, as hard as it was to believe it.

I was still reeling from the concussion our captors had given me yesterday, but more than anything I hoped that Reed hadn’t noticed my body giving away my thoughts.

I also had the sneaking suspicion more than six hours had passed and yet I asked to confirm:

“How long did I sleep, Sir?”

“Roughly eight hours.”

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, self-sacrifice personified. He hadn’t slept a wink. I stretched my legs and let out a groan.

“I am too old for this shit,” I said as my knees and ankles popped, “and I told you to wake me after six hours.”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea given your condition, Major.”

I decided that this wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on. If I objected, the only result would be another round of pointless bickering and I had no intention of starting the day like that.

Especially not when I had a splitting headache.

The clicking of the lock cut into the silence, followed by the screeching sound of the door opening. A guard trotted in and brought us two canteens filled with water and a few slices of stale bread.

We ate in silence, knowing full well that what we received mainly served as sustenance for the next round of torture.

Reed finished the rest of his water in one gulp and motioned me to come closer to him.

He kept his voice low.

“From what I can tell we’re on the second floor of the building. There is a door to a stairway right next to the interrogation room they held me in yesterday when I encountered the alien, which could serve as a potential exit route. Hand me my jacket, Major.”

I did as he requested. He wriggled out the communicator from between the upper fabric and the lining and flipped open the device.

“Reed to Enterprise, come in.”

For a moment we sat in silence staring at the communicator, hoping we’d get to hear anything else than the crackling of static interference.

Reed tried again.

“Enterprise, this is Lieutenant Reed, do you copy?”

Nada.

He let out a frustrated sigh and shoved the device back in into where it hopefully wouldn’t be found.

“I’m guessing there’s something interfering with the signal,” I said, “it might the structure of the building itself that’s making it impossible to open a channel.”

“We need weapons,” Reed said.

I grinned. Now we were talking.

He must have seen my reaction because there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and his brow quirked briefly.

“Just how well are you feeling, Major?”

I was still dizzy and most definitely feeling queasy, but there was no way in hell I was going to pass up the opportunity.

“Good enough to sock a couple of Nazis in the jaw, Sir.”

What we needed was a cover — if we’d run around the building in our civilian clothes we’d stick out like a sore thumb, so it would be best if at least one of us was in uniform.

Thanks to my condition it was easy to figure out a ploy — and not even ten minutes later Reed was banging on the cell door, calling for help for his injured comrade.

All I needed to do was lie on the floor and keep quiet.

It took a while until a middle-aged officer finally bothered to see what the ruckus was all about. He opened the door by using one of the keys on his key ring and strode into the cell, clearly displeased we had disturbed him.

“What’s the matter here?” He spoke with a heavy German accent.

“My colleague is injured and needs medical attention. He’s been unconscious all morning. Your interrogation left him with a concussion and numerous broken ribs.”

He spat out the word ‘interrogation’, full of well-tempered disdain and accentuated by his clipped British accent.

The German clicked his tongue in displeasure and bend over to look at me. This was my chance: I jolted up and kicked him in the temple with full force. I had decided to opt for my regular combat boots instead of civilian shoes which had proven to be a wise choice.

The guard fell like a sack of potatoes and I motioned Reed to close the door while I checked for weapons. He carried a Walther P38 pistol and also had a pocket knife on him, which likely would come in handy as well. I took both, although I had to admit I was a bit disappointed that these two items had been all the guard had carried. At least his key ring hopefully would come in handy.

I carefully removed his uniform, making sure I did so quietly. The guard likely wouldn’t wake up for a couple of hours.

As I stripped down to my underwear I looked up to see Reed quickly turning away. The fact he had been watching me take off my clothes filled me with a smug sense of satisfaction until I chased the thought away — this wasn’t the time to ponder these things.

A few minutes later I had put on the heavy woolen Wehrmacht uniform, which fit me well enough to serve as a disguise. I grabbed Reed by the arm, pushing him out of the cell.

“So far so good,” I mumbled. The first step — escaping the cell — had been surprisingly painless.

“There’s no need to break my arm, Major,” Reed hissed.

“My apologies, Sir,” I loosened my grip a bit.

The corridor seemed endless and despite all my hopes we soon encountered a couple of officers heading in the opposite direction.

They shot me a questioning glance and asked me a question in German and my brain took longer to catch up, expecting them to talk in English.

I thought I had blown our cover, my nervous anticipation rising a bit too quickly, when I finally was able to say:

“ _Ich bringe den Gefangenen zum Verhör._ ”

I saw them grin for a moment and cursed my accent. Then again I technically could have just been one of those who decided to switch sides once the Nazis had invaded the US.

The taller one of the officers nodded approvingly.

“Viel Erfolg, Kamerad.”

He gave me a very firm pat on the shoulder as they walked past us and I felt the rush of adrenaline slowly subside.

Reed turned around, making sure we were alone, and then said with a sardonic smile:

“It is very interesting to hear you talk in German, Major. You’re more than welcome to do that again sometime.”

“If we ever get out of this alive I will talk German to you whenever you wish, Lieutenant; but this is not the time to discuss it,” I snarled.

I made a mental note for a later point though; the innuendo playing in his voice was all the information I needed about where we stood.

Getting to the heavy steel door leading to the stairway was easier than I had anticipated, but once we reached the second floor things started to go south.

There were significantly more people on the second level of the building than on the third — all the worse they also seemed a lot more alert and suspicious.

And then I saw them: The aliens Reed had talked about; grey-skinned, bald-headed and flat-nosed, with glowing red eyes that I found particularly unsettling.

Dealing with the Xindi had been bad enough, and I wasn’t in the mood for nightmares about yet another unpleasant alien species.

Bizarrely enough they wore Nazi uniforms. While I wasn’t familiar with the rank structure of Germany’s military, the bastards seemed to hold significant positions within the command.

“They’re definitely not human,” I said dryly, “do you think they’re the ones who are responsible for us ending up in the wrong timeline?”

“I don’t know, but I think they’re interested in us,” Reed growled and he was right. One of them had spotted us and moved in closer.

“Who authorized you to remove the prisoner from the cell, private?” The alien bellowed, which evoked a series of unpleasant memories from boot camp and sent a sharp pain through my right temple.

At least I didn’t have to speak German this time.

“I am supposed to transfer the prisoner into a different cell, Sir,” I said, staring directly into his dark red eyes. Reed shot me a horrified look and I watched the alien relax.

Then he smiled. “Is that so? I am sure you will be able to tell me who gave you the order, private?” he hissed, still smiling.

‘ _God fucking shit_ ,’ I thought.

“You are more than welcome to confirm with the Oberstleutnant, Sir,” I said sarcastically, knowing full well my reply was very much out of line for anyone my rank (as per the stolen uniform).

I saw his grey nose wrinkle and he sucked in a sharp breath.

There was an old-fashioned rotary telephone on a desk in one of the rooms. The door was wide open and the desk was maybe twelve, fifteen feet away at best — if he decided to call someone to confirm, this would give us a minute, tops.

I looked at Reed.

His left eye twitched for a second, the alien turned around to head over to the telephone and suddenly I felt his hand on my hip. He grabbed the Walther, aimed it at the alien, and shot him in the back.

The alien slumped over and fell to the floor with a _thud._ I watched both fascinated and disgusted as blood slowly trickled out from under his body onto the grey linoleum floor. It was dark, almost like burned oil.

For a second the hallway was eerily quiet.

Then all hell broke loose.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We had grown up with war in our blood and, now that we were older, blood on our hands: That of our enemies and of those we couldn’t save.  
> We lived and breathed military obedience and commitment to our duty, we followed orders and we gave out orders; we were hardened by years of service and putting the needs of our crew before our own.  
> And everywhere we went death loomed, a dark presence we had learned to ignore mainly out of spite.
> 
> If Reed was anything like me (and I suspected he was), he too was starved for a chance to be gentle for once. To let his guard down without repercussion.  
> A moment where he could forget."

“That was a spectacularly stupid idea,” I said breathlessly as we rushed down the stairway, and every step I took sent a shooting pain into various parts of my body.

“Please, enlighten me Major,” Reed replied equally out of breath, “how you would have gotten us out of this situation when our cover was about to be blown?”

“Certainly not by shooting someone, Sir.”

We had escaped from a mob of soldiers coming afters us by a hair, and it was ironic Reed insisted that by doin what he did he saved our asses. If our cover hadn’t been blown before, it certainly was now that we had a bunch of angry Germans at our heels.

To say I was furious didn’t even come close.

Yet I had to admit that Reed’s questionable decision might have been the only option, as bad as it had been.

The whole situation was fucked, I determined, and one way or the other things would have gone sour eventually — we had exactly one gun and a knife and neither of us was fully ready for close combat, given our injuries.

“There is a chance we might be able to slip out of the building undetected among the turmoil,” Reed said. We were on the first floor now and he peeked through a small window in the heavy steel door leading to the main corridor.

“Bugger,” he said.

“I’m sorry?”

I stood next to him and looked through the window. The hallway was full of uniformed personnel, rifles at the ready.

“If we split up I might be …,” I said but Reed cut me off.

“Absolutely not. We’ll try the basement, there has to be another point of exit other than the main entrance.”

Before I could protest the staccato of an alarm started blaring.

‘ _Great_ ,’ I thought.

By the time we had reached the basement of the building we heard gunfire — which made no sense, unless there had been a significant turn of events in our absence.

I cocked my pistol and opened the door, giving Reed cover as we moved into the first of several large rooms.

Stored in the basement were a bunch of aluminum barrels, some of them peppered with bullet holes.

“Looks like we’re late to the party,” I quipped.

Reed pointed at a couple of dead officers scattered behind a console, where they must have taken cover.

I checked my surroundings and headed closer to examine them, but apparently I had missed a single sniper perched on top of a row of crates stacked on top of each other.

There was another volley of gunfire and I felt a stray bullet graze my arm, the sharp pain stinging and pulsating.

‘ _I’m too old for this shit,_ ’ I thought.

Reed came to my rescue —he had taken a rifle from one of the dead soldiers and killed my attacker with one precise shot to the head.

I nodded approvingly.

“I see those extra training sessions I scheduled are paying off, Sir,” I said.

“I wouldn’t miss them for anything,” Reed replied, voice drenched in sarcasm, “maybe you should let me go first from now on though. You don’t look too good, Major, pardon my observation.”

I rolled my eyes at his excessive politeness. Contrary to Reed’s my ego wasn’t fragile, so if someone told me I looked like shit I handled it pretty well.

But the truth was I didn’t feel good either: During our escape down the stairs I had broken out in a cold sweat and my nausea had increased to a point where I was seriously worried I might barf in front of my superior again.

“Go ahead, Sir.”

I fell back and decided to take cover behind a couple barrels, waiting for Reed to give me a sign to follow him.

What I heard instead was Reed giving out a surprised sound and two voices I definitely recognized.

“This can’t be real,” I heard Malcolm say.

“It is, but we don’t have time for this!” I knew that drawl. That definitely was Commander Tucker.

“The building’s about to blow up,” I heard the other voice, which belonged to … No, it couldn’t be.

I emerged from my hiding spot only to realize it was true.

Next to Tucker stood Captain Archer, very much alive and well, apart from a few scratches and bruises.

A strangled “Sir” was all I could come up with when he saw me.

“Nice uniform, Major,” he replied, “we really have to get the hell out of here though.”

***

Due to our — or to be fair, mostly my — injuries we were beamed aboard Enterprise as quickly as possible. Getting away from the building before it blew up had been strenuous and by the time Archer gave the signal for two to be beamed up I had almost passed out once.

Having my molecules taken apart and then re-assembled didn’t exactly help my overall state, and once we arrived on the transporter platform aboard Enterprise I slumped over sideways and almost took Reed down with me.

“My apologies, Lieutenant,” I mumbled.

“It’s already forgotten, Major,” his voice sounded muffled, like he was very far away.

The last thing I remember was Phlox’s mildly concerned face as he bent over me with a scanner.

I knew what this meant: I would spend time in sickbay yet again, where the good doctor would hound me with psychological evaluations and miracle bat spit.

“Is this really necessary?” I asked, embarrassed by how much my voice was shaking.

If I received an answer I didn’t hear it. Just seconds after I had spoken I felt my arms and legs go numb and drifted into nothingness.

***

Five weeks after my father’s death, my mother and I had to move out of our one-story house on base. While the United Earth Military sent benefit checks — albeit somewhat meager — to surviving spouses and their children, they preferred to not keep them around on base where they reminded the other families of the bitter realities that came with the job.

I stood on our porch, the house full of half-packed boxes, and watched the children of the neighborhood play outside in the summer heat.

In a couple of months, give or take, their fathers (or sometimes their mothers) would return home to them.

My father also had returned, but not in the way I had expected: Incinerated by an explosive device during a skirmish with a militia called Terra Prime, his ashes now sat on our mantle in a mahogany box with a small brass plaque on it.

A little over four weeks after his death and just days before our mandatory move-out date, my mother took me to a Chinese restaurant off base.

I remember I had General Tso’s Chicken, which is probably why to this day I despised food that was both sweet and savory.

Next to me on the bench of our booth sat a small rucksack I had brought, containing a PADD and a couple action figures to keep me occupied in case I got bored. What mother didn’t know was that right before we had left I had snuck the box containing father’s ashes into the rucksack. Now that we were waiting on dessert — fried ice cream, if I recall correctly — I took out the box and put it on the table.

Confused and fascinated I watched as my mother’s face gave away the variety of emotions that hit her, ranging from disbelief to shock, sadness and a hint of disgust.

“Is this what I think it is, Jay?” She hissed.

“I wanted to bring dad. He likes this place … liked,” I quickly corrected myself.

She talked through clenched teeth when she said: “Jeremiah Matthew Hayes, you absolutely cannot bring your father’s ashes to a restaurant; and you better believe that when we’re home I’ll whoop your ass and …”

The waiter arrived with our dessert, and she fell silent midway through her threat.

I don’t recall if mom actually spanked me — but what I did remember was that on our short drive home, she alternated between laughing and crying.

***

Phlox diagnosed me with a severe concussion and five broken ribs total, three on the left and two on my right side. My sternum was also fractured and my nose was broken, none of which surprised me much after the ordeal I had been through.

I had been in sickbay for about three days, still reeling from my various injures I sustained during the mission and loopy from the painkillers Phlox had given me.

Not that I wasn’t used to this by now, but the strong medication had me re-live the restaurant incident in my dream multiple times and in several variations.

When I finally woke up from a rather restless sleep, the clock next to my bed indicated it was 1330 hours.

“Ah, Major,” the doctor said with his usual joviality, walking over to my biobed “it is good to see you awake. I’m happy to inform that your injuries should heal up nicely and most likely you’ll be released in two to three days at maximum.”

“Thanks for the update, Doc,” I said weakly and watched Phlox as he went back to his desk to continue his work, likely to give Reed and me some privacy.

I shot Reed a questioning look and he walked over to pay me a visit. It was about damn time someone gave me an update on what the hell had been going on.

“Sir, requesting a general…” I started but Reed waved me off.

“Everything is fine, Hayes. The aliens we encountered in the alternate timeline tried to open a conduit transporting them to the twenty-fourth century. By destroying said conduit the timeline re-adjusted itself. Captain Archer said it was quite a sight. When everything was said and done we had incoming messages from Lunar One Colony and Starfleet Headquarters. There was a whole fleet welcoming us.”

“I guess I missed all the fun stuff,” I said.

Reed smiled. I had a feeling he didn’t tell me the whole truth.

“I’m guessing there’s more?” I asked.

Reed’s smile shifted from friendly to enigmatic.

“Oh, nothing significant. A minor disagreement in a bar me and some fellow crew members frequented last Saturday.”

“You got into a bar fight,” I deadpanned. I had a hard time picturing Reed getting into this kind of trouble, but then I noticed a faint, almost faded bruise right below his right eye and a scab on his slightly swollen upper lip.

“Only because I defended a friend and colleague,” he jerked his head slightly in Phlox’s direction, “not everyone on Earth seems to be welcoming toward all kinds of alien species since the Xindi attack.”

I nodded. I somehow had expected this kind of societal shift. All I needed to do was take a look at Tucker, who had changed a lot during the Xindi mission. It was understandable people be would be wary of strange new civilizations even now — not that I supported the sentiment.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Major?”

“Actually, all I want is food and a shower, Sir” I said. I had been hooked up to an IV drip for a while, but that rarely had been enough to sustain myself, and now that I felt my strength return I was positively famished.

“I’m sure that can be arranged. I’ll walk you over to your quarters.”

***

Enterprise’s corridors were empty as we headed to my quarters, largely due to the fact there was only a skeleton crew on board. Everyone who had families to visit (or simply needed time away from the ship) had gone home.

Even Phlox would leave for Denobula in a couple of days once I was officially released from sickbay and put on convalescent leave. Enterprise was docked at a repair station in Earth’s thermosphere, where a state-of-the-art engineering team took care of fixing the extensive damage the ship had sustained in the Delphic Expanse as well as during our trip to an alternate past.

I wondered why Reed was aboard the ship again after his brief trip to the surface, but didn’t want to pry just yet.

The hot water of the shower stung and burned at first where it hit my injuries, but felt heavenly soon after. I leaned back against the wall and watched the steam dance in the bright lights of the lavatory. Outside I heard Reed — Malcolm, I corrected myself, we were off duty — enter my quarters again, likely by using his override codes.

I toweled myself off and put on a pair of military-issued PT jogging pants bearing the MACO shark and one of my many maroon undershirts I usually wore with my uniform.

When I stepped out of the lavatory I saw him stand next to my bunk somewhat awkwardly in an _at-ease_ position, studying the stack of books I had brought — classics mostly; Hemingways “A Farewell to Arms” and Jack London’s “Sea-Wolf” among others.

Reed’s attention had been captured by another book though, as I had fully expected.

“Pride and Prejudice?” His voice pitched. “I hadn’t pegged for an Austen type of guy.”

“Why not, Lieutenant?” I replied as I rubbed the towel over my damp hair.

“Does a MACO not deserve a break from the gruesomeness of war from time to time?”

I hung the wet towel over my chair to dry and was grateful to see he had brought me a sandwich and a bear claw from the mess hall.

I had expected an answer that was dry as dust, a sardonic smile or maybe a snide remark, but instead I was met with silence; and in this moment I understood that Reed _knew._

We had grown up with war in our blood and, now that we were older, blood on our hands: That of our enemies and of those we couldn’t save.

We lived and breathed military obedience and commitment to our duty, we followed orders and we gave out orders; we were hardened by years of service and putting the needs of our crew before our own.

And everywhere we went death loomed, a dark presence we had learned to ignore mainly out of spite.

There was barely a break or an escape from it — although I’d argue that my rather short-lived marriage definitely was an attempt to do so; the figurative white picket fence to combat the perilsand dark thoughts that came with the job.

If Reed was anything like me (and I suspected he was), he too was starved for a chance to be _gentle_ for once. To let his guard down without repercussion.

A moment where he could forget.

He didn’t protest when I kissed him and did so carefully because his lip had been split just days before — and because I wanted to make sure I had time enough to block his attack in case he changed his mind.

Instead he opened his mouth, and I feel his tongue against mine as he grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me closer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I updated this story and I apologize for the delay! Life has been fairly busy recently (which is strange because the world still seems at a standstill these days).   
> I hope y'all are staying safe and healthy - thank you everyone who has left kudos and comments so far, I appreciate it very much!

I didn’t close my eyes as he kissed me and took my head in his hands. His movements were languid and his breathing heavier and faster now, and I studied his face: The crescents under his half-closed eyes were darkened by the exertions of the last days and his lashes were surprisingly full.

When I pulled him closer to me I felt how differently we were built: He was slender and sinewy, but not weak — since our sparring match I knew better than to underestimate him.

I slid my hands down his back and pushed him closer, feeling his arousal against mine and to my surprise he moaned.

The sound thrilled me and yet to my dismay a string of thoughts crossed my mind: Enterprise was a small ship, the walls thin enough to hear your neighbor shift in their bunk, and my tiny quarters were located in between those of Kemper and Romero — if they were still aboard Enterprise, that was.

I felt him pull my shirt up and lifted my arms. His hands were cold as they roamed over my chest, sending a shiver down my back. Reed must have felt it, because I heard him apologize quietly and I smiled: He was so ridiculously _polite_ in some situations (but not in others).

My sweatpants weren’t exactly hiding my state, so I pulled the waistband over my hips and let them slide down, awkwardly stepping out of them while I fumbled with the zipper of his boiler suit uniform.

God, it had been a while.

I felt Malcolm's hands move up to my shoulders and arms, his fingertips grazing the bandages Phlox had applied over my various injuries.

“Let me know how much pressure is okay. I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered and I kissed him again, feeling him apply pressure. Eventually I flinched and he softened his grip; and it made me realize how well we understood each other without words.

I stripped him down to his bright blue skivvies and he kicked off his boots along with the wad that was his uniform. Testing whether he’d fight me I grabbed him by the shoulders and maneuvered him closer to my bunk.

My hint was well-received — all of a sudden he seemed in a hurry to get me naked as he pulled down my boxers and quickly rid himself of his undershirt.

Two could play that game, so I made sure I wasn’t the only one completely nude.

Since I didn’t feel up to it given I was still a bit weak I let him take the lead.

For some reason I had assumed he would be as shy and awkward as he was around the MACO contingent or Archer maybe; yet he was anything but.

Having closed my eyes briefly I felt him break the kiss all of a sudden and he slid down to his knees, his fingers digging into my hips. Soon after his tongue was on my throbbing cock.

I sucked in a sharp breath and failed to stifle a moan — cursing myself internally as I remembered Kemper and Romero and whatever scuttlebutt that might ensue — but all of these things were quickly forgotten as I watched Malcolm relax his throat and take me deep in his mouth, wet heat engulfing me.

I tried to stay quiet but he was wicked; letting his tongue swirl around my cock and from time to time he sucked in his cheeks. I looked down at him, and watched his head move back and forth, and he grinned as I moaned loudly. Apparently he enjoyed torturing me, and if he continued what he was doing this encounter would be embarrassingly short.

“Bastard,” I said and laced my fingers through his short, silky hair, pulling him away from me.

“I’d expect you to be a bit more grateful after I put in such effort,” he quipped.

He stood up and I smacked his butt, playful yet hard enough to make him flinch briefly, only to feel him smile into the kiss he gave me.

I let my hand travel to his erection viciously slow, and when I took his cock in my hand and started to work him in a few tentative, firm strokes I fleetingly noticed he was uncircumcised.

It took me a bit until I found my rhythm: I was awkward like a horny teenager at first and he placed his hand over mine and steadied me, guiding me until I got it right. I let my mouth wander to his neck where I lapped and sucked on Malcolm’s pale skin, trying not to leave a mark.

His breath hitched and he let out a sigh, quiet at first and then becoming louder as I jerked him off and soon I felt his legs quiver.

I put my free hand on Malcolm’s hip, trying to help him keep his balance.

Hearing him become more and more vocal about his pleasure made my desire rise to a fever pitch, and I reached over on the shelf above my bunk where I kept a small tube of skin lotion.

“Hayes,” he whispered.

“It’s Jeremiah,” I said, “I figured this would be a good moment to start using my first name.”

He flashed me a lopsided smile and nodded, breathing heavily with his mouth slightly agape, his lids heavy (‘bedroom eyes’, a onetime affair of mine had called it years ago).

I pulled him down to my bunk with me and to my surprise he abandoned control and let me take the lead, positioning himself on his back — a good idea, given my injures.

He watched me with narrowed eyes as I prepared him and myself, and to my dismay I noticed that my palms were clammy and my voice shaking when I asked him if he was alright.

Malcolm didn’t answer me. Instead he kissed me, softer this time as if he was trying to give me the reassurance I needed.

He moaned and sharply sucked in his breath as I entered him, going slowly to give me time to adjust. Hearing and seeing him like that, his flushed face and disheveled hair, realizing all of this was finally happening almost made me come on the spot. I took a few seconds to will back my orgasm and then started moving, going slowly first but soon after picking up the speed.

With each thrust I felt Malcolm’s nails dig into my shoulders and as I started pounding him he clawed at my skin, letting his hands wander up my neck and raking through my hair.

“Right there, that’s it,” he said, his clipped speech interrupted by panting and gasping, and he slid his nails all the way down to the small of my back.

“Oh, God.”

The pain just intensified my arousal and I made sure I let my lover know, hoping that if my subordinates were still in their quarters next to mine they had earplugs on hand.

He had wrapped his legs around my waist and I felt his heels dig into my back, pushing us closer together and the heat between us was unbearable.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, reveling in his scent, and felt the familiar tingle build in the pit of my stomach and my lower back, repeating _oh fuck, yes_ over and over.

Malcolm climaxed first; his warm, sticky semen spreading over my stomach as he let out a long moan, his voice pitching.

Hearing him shout his release and seeing him throw his head back as he came sent me over the edge and I collapsed on top of him, desperately trying to stay quiet.

I wasn’t able to.

Later — once we finally had tamed our ragged breath — we were nestled in my tiny bunk, my head using his arm as a pillow as I absentmindedly watched the stars through the window. There was a faint rhythmic clanking coming from the hull as the repair crews worked around the clock, and my gaze drifted to Malcolm.

His eyes were closed and his face still flushed from our lovemaking, hair damp with sweat; and I couldn’t help but think how goddamn _beautiful_ he looked. His breathing became steadier and slower as he trembled on the edge of sleep, and I swiped a few streaks of his hair out of his face. Malcolm opened his eyes and looked at me, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep …,” I said and quickly caught myself before I called him _baby_ or any other term of endearment he’d likely punch me in the face for.

He closed his eyes again, shifting slightly in the crammed space and I watched him for a bit longer before sleep overtook me as well, grappling with the suffocating force that were my feelings for Malcolm Reed.

***

“Your ribs are healing up nicely,” Phlox said in his usual jovial tone, swiping a scanner over the side of my body, eyes on the screen above the biobed I was sitting on.

Moving the scanner up to my head, he hummed a sound of approval.

“Any headache, dizziness or nausea in the last 12 hours?”

“None, Doctor,” I replied. This was the first day I actually felt _human_ again, and it was undeniably glorious.

“In regard to your psychological evaluations,” Phlox began and my eyebrow shot up. He immediately held up his hands, “Now, I obviously can’t make you attend any therapy sessions, but I’d like to let you know that as long as you are on board Enterprise my offer still stands.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound too strained. Whatever happened, I did not want the Denobulan poking around in my psyche. “Am I good to go?”

“You are released as of right now,” his smile was wide and just mildly unsettling.

I grabbed my uniform jacket and was just about to head out the door, when I heard him say:

“If you should need any ointment for the scratches on your upper arms and neck, I’d be more than happy to provide you with some. Assuming they aren’t self-inflicted, in which case I’d have to re-evaluate the …”

“That won’t be necessary,” I chocked out, mortified.

He got the hint and smiled with a hint of smug self-content. “Enjoy your R&R, Major.”

I gave a court nod in return and left sickbay in a hurry.

***

Returning to Earth made me realize that I didn’t really have any business being back on the planet. My ex-wife and I hadn’t stayed in contact after the divorce more than ten years ago — thankfully, I should probably add — and most of the people I considered acquaintances also happened to be my subordinates.

Since I was either on duty or deployed most of the time I didn’t have an apartment or house, so

I decided that spending more than a day or two on Earth was pointless.

I couldn’t get around visiting my mother though, and decided to surprise her (which would probably annoy her because I interrupted her _routine_ ).

I took a transport to Raleigh and rented a flitter to get to her house on the edge of a town so smallit was barely a blip on the map.

I parked the flitter along the dirt road, waiting for the cloud of dust to settle. The thermometer in the vehicle read 29 degrees Celsius, and I was glad I’d had the presence of mind to roll up the sleeves of my uniform jacket on the way to Raleigh. Upon looking in the rearview mirror I noticed to my content that the bruises in my face were faint now, thanks to Phlox using a dermal regenerator on me (although I didn’t fully trust the small device).

Her house sat at the edge of a small wooded area, as lonely as its inhabitant. I scoffed. If anyone ever accused me of being ‘a solitary person’ they should meet my mother.

It took a minute for her to get to the door after I had knocked and she didn’t carry her twelve-gauge shotgun, so I guess she must have recognized me through the ornamented glass panel of her front door.

“Well, I haven’t seen you ‘round here in a while,” she said and the smile that lit up her face was genuine.

I kissed her cheek and hugged her tiny frame. The last time we had spoken via subspace communication was after I had almost died in the Expanse.

“Thank God you’re still alive, Jay,” she gasped as I squeezed her, and for a split second I wished I was a child again so that I could curl up in her lap.

***

My father’s ashes sat on the credenza in the living room, next to a United Earth flag folded up into a triangular shape. The living room was immaculate and the bookshelves devoid of unnecessary knickknack or trinkets. Apparently another trait of the Hayes family passed down through generations: We preferred simplicity and straightforwardness. I took off my uniform jacket and hung it over one of the dining room chairs.

Then my gaze fell on the mahogany box with its plaque, studying the markers: His date of birth and the year of his death.

I had outlived my father by ten years already. One day I would be old and gray, but he would forever be thirty-four years old.

Mom brewed coffee strong enough to wake the dead and we talked about the events of the last couple of months. I skipped the whole thing about traveling back to the year 1944and ugly aliens in Wehrmacht uniforms — she wouldn’t believe me anyway and the last thing I wanted to do was confirm her suspicions I was finally losing it.

My mental health was a perpetual elephant in the room I preferred to not discuss, but my mother was an instigator who loved to poke around in people’s wounds.

To my surprise she seemed mellow and non-confrontational this time around though.

Turning her coffee mug in her hand she studied me for a bit and then said: “You seem happier than the last time I saw you.”

I shrugged vaguely. The whole thing with Malcolm had put me in a significantly better mood, but the uncertainty gnawed on me. We hadn’t spoken much since we made love and he had returned to his trademark standoffish behavior.

“Who is she?”

I rolled my eyes and let out a groan.

“Why do you automatically assume that I’m seeing someone, Mom?”

“Call it a mother’s intuition. Also I saw you have some scratches on your neck,” she deadpanned.

I turned away and let out a resigned puff of breath. First Phlox noticed, and then she did. Talk about adding insult to injury.

I didn’t feel like breaching the subject, but felt her gaze lingering on me and knew I’d have to offer tidbits of information if I didn’t want to be peppered with more questions for the next couple of hours.

“He.”

“What?”

“It’s a guy. I’m seeing a guy.”

“Oh,” she looked genuinely surprised, but mom wasn’t the judging type, “fellow MACO?”

“Nah, Starfleet,” I replied, taking another sip of my coffee and burning my mouth in the process.

“Ohh,” her voice pitched a couple of octaves, giving away she really hadn’t expected that. Ever since I had been aboard Enterprise my disdain for Starfleet methods had grown and I didn’t have any issues voicing it to her whenever we talked.

“What else?” She shifted around in her chair, getting more comfortable. I didn’t really want to offer more about Malcolm or our relationship, yet at the same time I wished I could tell someone, _anyone_ , about his lopsided smiles, his love for explosive devices and the way he talked in his sleep.

“What do you mean by ‘what else’?” I huffed, “He’s British. Enterprise’s tactical and security officer. Maybe five, six years younger than me. He’s a lieutenant.”

“So, you’re sleeping with a subordinate?”

“Apples and oranges, mom. The MACOs don’t answer to Starfleet Command. We were merely there to offer tactical support during the mission in the Expanse.”

I skipped out on the fact that due to his role as head of security he was my commanding officer, which meant that while technically outranking him I was sleeping with my superior.

I was certain that if dad was here he likely wouldn’t have been thrilled about it, but what did I know? It was all idle speculation.

All I knew was that somehow I had defied the odds and escaped death more often than I thought possible.

Maybe it was time to finally switch careers in the MACOs if I wanted to make a habit out of staying alive: Get a desk job and stop with the endless deployments.

Retire after a couple years of paper-pushing and buy a house somewhere. Read books and discover the culinary wonders the world (and beyond) had to offer, besides MREs.

I let the stray thought wander a bit.

In my mind’s eye I could see it: A quaint little house with a front porch and exterior shiplap siding; like the one we used to live in when dad was still alive. A flag bearing the MACO shark flying in the front yard. Maybe we’d have a Starfleet one as well, just for good measure. And on the weekends Malcolm and I would tinker with our weapons collection.

Domestic bliss.

I scoffed and then grinned, ignoring the strange look my mother gave me.

What an inane, unrealistic, disgustingly sentimental idea. Not to mention Reed and I would probably kill each other if we lived in the same house.

We had almost killed each other while we served on the same ship.

“Enterprise is leaving in a week,” I said. “I’ll return to the ship a bit earlier since there are a few things I need to take care of.”

That was a blatant lie and we both knew it, but mom didn’t call me out on it.

“It was good to see you,” she said and for a second I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

***

I arrived back on Enterprise in the late hours of the evening after the shuttle taking me from Raleigh to San Francisco was delayed. The shuttle departing from San Francisco Space Port was almost empty, so I took the liberty of sprawling out over two seats to take a short nap.

Enterprise sat in the space dock like a sleeping giant and I noticed that the repair crews had made some good progress on fixing up the hull while I was gone.

I dropped by in the mess hall for a quick bite to eat and to my surprise found Malcolm there, a cup of tea in front of him, his nose buried in a PADD.

I scoffed. Should I really have been surprised that he too rather stayed away from his family — an eerie familiar twist in both of our histories?

He looked up when I put down my plate and sat across from him at the small table, seeming genuinely surprised and maybe a bit uncomfortable.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I said.

“Not at all,” the ‘ _Major_ ’ died on his lips just in time.

I pulled out a PADD and started reading, Sun Tzu’s _Art of War_ to get into the mood for yet another upcoming space mission. I stretched out my arms across the table until our fingers touched and he didn’t pull back.

“I have a couple suggestions how we could optimize the targeting array. I’ve been told that the engineering team in space dock made a couple updates to the existing one. Perhaps it would be wise to work on it before the ship is hopping with crewmen again.”

I smiled. I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the targeting array at all, but if this was his way of extending an invitation to share his bed once more I’d gladly take it.

“Sounds good. Shall we meet in the armory at 2200 hours?” I asked.

He nodded, a faint smile crossing his face, and left after putting his mug in the recycler.

The door hissed shut and I stared out the large porthole of the mess hall, watching the stars reflect their light.

West Point had shaped me to the man I had become and so had Janus Loop and New Berlin and wherever else I had spent my time in the service, but nothing could have prepared me for the things I had encountered in deep space: The Xindi, Insectoid hatcheries and the possibility of traveling through time and alternate universes.

I was beginning to wrap my mind around all of these things, accepting them as my new reality.

The greatest adventure of them all though would be figuring out Malcolm Reed.

I hoped I’d be given enough time to see all of his mysteries unfold.


End file.
